


Mistress Alayne

by Amymel86



Series: Jonsa Smut Week [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cum Play, Dom/sub, Dominatrix Sansa, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Jon gets called 'naughty' a fair bit, Jon is not related to the Starks, Jonsa Smut Week, Modern AU, Mutual Pining, Sansa is a professional Dom, Spanking, here be leather and whips, the dynamics get mixed up a bit later on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 03:13:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12785712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/pseuds/Amymel86
Summary: Listen, if Sansa's clients want to pay her 100s of dragons just to dress up in killer heeled thigh-high leather boots and corsets while she calls them a naughty boy and spanks them - who is she to say no? The truth is, being 'Mistress Alayne' pays the bills rather well with something extra left over for her savings - Sansa stays in control and gets paid, her clients are satisfied with her services.....what could possibly go wrong?Jon Snow's life has reached all new levels of boring. Ever since his estranged father swooped in and offered him a high-flying position at Targaryen Technologies when he was fresh out of college, Jon had yearned for something else. It wouldn't be a smart decision to go back North, not with everything his life at King's Landing has given him, but Jon Snow isn't particularly familiar with smart decisions anyway. So on week before his departure from the South, he takes up his friend's suggestion at participating in something a little....'different'.....what could possibly go wrong? It's not like this 'Mistress Alayne' could be anyone he knows - right?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MissEmmanuelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissEmmanuelle/gifts).



> THIS WAS MEANT TO BE FOR SMUT WEEK AND I'M SO SORRY THAT I COULDN'T FINISH IT IN TIME!
> 
> This little thingy here will be roughly 4/5 chaps long - the first chap has no smut (sorry)!
> 
> Notes for this story: Jon is 27, Sansa is 26.  
> Jon is not related to the Starks.  
> Lyanna brought Jon up in the North as a single Mum, Rhaegar wasn't exactly a dead-beat Dad, but he was often too busy in the south running a successful business to really be involved with Jon as a child. Lyanna passed away when Jon was in his mid-late teens.
> 
> Gifted to MissEmmanuelle for allowing me to bounce this idea back and forth with her and for generally being a GEM!

Sansa had scoffed at the idea at first. She'd known about Margaery's profession - she knew that her friend was turning a pretty penny by being a professional Dom, it's just that she'd not pondered too much on the details. But when her bank balance had her calling her father asking for a loan more than once in a 6 month period, she knew _something_ had to be done.

The thing was, King's Landing was an  _expensive_ place to live, and her PA job didn't exactly leave her purse overflowing at the end of the month. Plus, Sansa had _plans!_ She wanted to open her very own store - one where she sold her own clothing creations - beautifully structured and delicately embellished wedding dresses and ball gowns. What her plans were in need of was financial back up...and she was damned if she would go begging to her family for yet another handout. No, Sansa Stark will sew her own dreams together with materials of her own making - and if that means that she occasionally has to dress up in thigh high leather boots and brandish a spanking paddle, then so be it.

So for the past year, she had been doing quite nicely, thank you very much. With Margaery's guidance, Sansa had built up a regular clientele - mostly high-flying execs who like to let go of the reigns of control that their lives demand they should take up - and that was perfectly fine and dandy with Sansa - she'll gladly grip onto those reigns as if her life depended on it. After her horrendous 10 month relationship with Joffrey, Sansa sought out control in every aspect of her life. She will never again be the one without the upper hand - it just so happens that 'the upper hand' in this area often held a riding crop.

Sure, there's the common misconception about exactly _what_ kind of service a professional dominatrix would offer...

Firstly, Sansa, in no way, shape or form, is offering an interactive _sexual_ experience - Mistress Alayne (her professional name) will not be naked, clients will not be touching her without first being granted permission (and even then, it's normally for something like licking her boot, or on the very odd occasion, giving her a shoulder massage) - yes, her customers often get aroused, and sometimes she allows them to touch _themselves -_ and this, in turn, normally sets off a renewed bout of 'punishment'. They are not allowed to 'finish' during a session - however, if Mistress Alayne's clients mentally replay their time with her as they're pleasuring themselves afterwards, spilling their desire with her name upon their lips.... well, that's none of Sansa's concern.

Secondly, you never can tell who would be the most likely to enlist her services. Sure, they mostly all have the same theme - wanting to be treated like a naughty schoolboy or just plain ordered about (some even wanted to be insulted), but none of them seemed 'seedy' or particularly 'kinky' when she first meets them.

Her and Marge had a pretty neat set up too - what with the Tyrell's chain of 'Highgarden Hotels' willing to keep rooms reserved for their appointments ('play spaces' as they're called in the business), Sansa felt safe - it was almost like a 'normal' job....almost.

Today she was meeting with a new client, and she chose her attire accordingly. Some of her outfits (all handmade of course) were more risqué than others but for the very first meet, Sansa had to establish that she was the boss of this interaction, so the tight black knee-length pencil skirt, teamed with a fitted leather jacket, complete with flared peplum gave off just the right air of authority - especially when she added her dark brunette wig, bright red lipstick and heels that could kill a man.

_No one messes with Mistress Alayne._

 

* * *

 

**Jon**

Jon let a sigh pass his lips as he leant back, his black leather executive chair squeaking slightly. He tapped his fingers on the oversized polished vintage mahogany desk in front of him. His eyes almost glazed over as he glared the spreadsheet on his screen once more. _Numbers_. His father had crashed into his life when he was 15, promised him a place at Targaryen Technologies after he graduated from university and practically handed him the Assistant Head of Accounts position on a silver platter - a platter that Jon was beginning to wish he’d refused.

It wasn't that Jon was ungrateful _per se,_ it's just that he probably would have benefited from more of Rhaegar Targaryen's _time_ rather than... _this_. It wasn't even that Jon didn't understand _to some extent -_ he grew up at one end of the country, whilst his father ran a multi-million dragon company at the other.

So here he was, entering his sixth year at the company and living in King's Landing. And he was _sick_ of it. 

He yearned for home. And by home, he meant The North. He meant Winterfell.

Jon glared at this desk phone when it began ringing. He declined the call with a huff and pushed a series of buttons to divert his calls to his secretary.

After an hour of tapping away at his spreadsheet and sending off emails, Jon found himself with his elbows resting on his desk and his head in his hands. He couldn't do this for much longer - this wasn't what he'd wanted to get out of life. Sure, he had plenty of money, he had a great penthouse apartment and a flash car, a line of beautiful women willing to date the wealthy son of a Targaryen - but he felt totally empty. He groaned and thought of Robb, his best friend from back home - he hadn't spoken to him in three years. What he knew of his friend's life was only what he had gathered from social media and he lamented the fact that he'd let this happen.

Jon had even lost touch with Arya - as far as he knew, she was off exploring the world with her boyfriend, Gendry. He wasn't even sure what country she was in at then moment.

But all those years ago he'd grabbed onto his father's offer of a job and a new life like his sanity had depened on it. Like he had had no other choice. What with his Mother's passing, the Starks were the only thing anchoring him to the North. And Jon's wretched desires had ruined all of that for him.

Jon's heart lurched at the thought of her. _Still_ \- after all these years - Sansa Stark had that effect on him. Not that she would know it. She was completely in the dark about Jon's depraved fantasies for his best friend's little sister. No one knew of his painful yearning and feelings of guilt.

He'd not really recognised it for more than lustful longing when he was young. He'd not allowed himself to. The Starks were practically family to him. His feelings and desires for Sansa felt like a betrayal against them. His sick mind had tainted the only good thing in his life and filled his head with lecherous thoughts - he'd had to get away. Get away from her and his own desires. And somewhere in the midst of all of that, the distance was just too much. Jon and the Starks drifted apart and here he was. 

But that wasn't what really twisted the knife in his gut. That had come some four years ago when out of the blue Robb contacted him to ask the favour of looking out for Sansa, now that she too had moved to the big city. Jon would have been the only person she knew in King's Landing and after a handful of failed attempts to meet with one another, Jon had stopped trying and just let the opportunity slip through his fingertips.

It was because he was a coward - he could see that clearly now. His friend had asked him to do the decent thing and be there to support his sister and Jon had failed to step up because he knew - _he knew_ \- that being all these miles away from the other Starks, having Sansa _all to himself_....well, he was bound to do _something._ What that 'something' was eluded him to this day - make a move on her? Fall even more for her? Lay bare his deepest emotions at her feet? He didn't know. The one thing he _does_ know, is that he was an idiot to just let her slip away too. Especially when he'd heard it through the grapevine that she'd endured an abusive relationship whilst down here in the South. He couldn't help but feel an angry guilt at that, sure that if he had been part of her life, he would have been able to prevent it from ever happening.

In short, Jon Snow needed to put things right. And he was going to start by going back to where he belonged.

He pulled up a blank email and began tapping out a message to his father. _'My resignation'_ he typed in the subject line.

* * *

 

"So you're really going through with it?" Grenn asked as Jon handed him one of the beers he'd just paid for at the bar.

Jon took a swig and smacked his lips together. "Yep." he loosened his work tie from around his neck and sat back in his seat.

"And you're packing up....leaving that amazing pad....that high-flyin' job of yours to-.....to just go back up North...without a plan of what you're gonna do when you get there?"

Jon nodded, the corners of his lips turned down in contemplation. "Yeah...I guess so."

"Fuckin' hell mate" Grenn muttered, shaking his head "I'd kill to have the opportunities you've had, you lucky bastard."

Jon looked over at his friend. He'd met Grenn at Uni and managed to persuade his father to offer him a supervisor's role at Targaryen Tech. As far as he knew, Grenn enjoyed his job and the somewhat generous pay-packet that came with it. "Want me to put a good word in for you before I leave?" He quipped. "There will be an opening after all."

"With numbers and balancing spreadsheets and all that financial shit? Naaaah."

Jon cleared his throat. "I know I've been lucky, but.....well, I'm not....I'm not _happy_."

The crowd at the bar suddenly erupted into a deafening cheer. Jon glanced up at the football game that was playing on the mounted tv screen. Reach United had just scored against Westerlands FC.

"Stress of the job getting to yer?" Grenn offered once the din had died back down.

"Something like that, yeah."

Grenn took another pull of his beer before tilting the neck of the bottle towards Jon. "You're definitely not getting back with Ygritte this time, yeah?" He asked, narrowing his eyes.

"No" Jon snorted "I haven't been in touch with her for nearly a year now." Jon looked up from the beer-matt he was idly twiddling with. "Why?" 

"No reason" Grenn said, glancing around a little shiftily as other bar patrons were either chatting or staring with rapt attention at the game on the screen.

Jon scowled at his friend. He knew Grenn very well by now, and could tell that his answer was bullshit. "Tell me" he demanded.

Grenn searched Jon's awaiting expression and glanced around at the people in the bar again. "Nah. It's...err...it's nothing."

Jon sighed. "Come out with it."

Another cheer filled the room. Some Reach fans started shouting a crude football chant. Jon's eye's flickered to the crowd but came back to his friend who was nervously picking at the label on his beer bottle. He raised his eyebrows expectantly once Grenn finally looked back up at him, making his friend huff in defeat and reach for his wallet. He pulled out a small, elegant and yet plain looking business card and pushed it across the table at Jon.

**Mistress Alayne**

**Dominant Services for Naughty Boys**

Grenn cleared his throat as Jon flipped the card, skimming the contact details on the back only to flip it over once more to re-read the information. "Wh-..... errr..." Images of tight black PVC clothing, whips and handcuffs sprang to mind and Jon found himself to be the one clearing his throat this time. "Do you-.....Have you-...?"

"Look" Grenn started, leaning forwards onto the table, "I know it sounds...weird....and kinky...but, it's actually not what it seems."

"It's not kinky?" Jon asked in a sarcastic tone, making his friend snort a little self-consciously.

"Alright, alright" he raked his hands through his hair, "It _is_ kinky...and she's hot _as fuck,_ but _honestly?_ I just like the release man - it could help with your stress maybe?"

"The _release?_ "

"Not _that_ kind of release! That's- err....well, that's not allowed" Grenn reached over and tapped twice upon the business card "not with her."

"What kind of prostitute-"

"She's not a fucking prostitute!" Grenn hissed at Jon, his head whirring this way and that to make sure no one was listening. "She's a dom....she.....well, you don't _fuck_ her!" When Jon met Grenn's stare for a few beats, he huffed and reached over to grab at the business card. "Forget it! Forget I even said anything."

"No!" Jon snapped the card back from his friend. "I'm.....well....let's just say, I'm _open_ to the idea."

Later that night, after a few beers and more explanations from Grenn, Jon returned to his penthouse apartment and pulled an other beer from his massive double-door fridge. He flipped Mistress Alayne's business card over and over in his hand, scrutinising it as different possible scenarios played over in his head - each one more alluring than the next. He couldn't deny that the thought of being dominated stirred him - and Grenn had sworn blind that it was nowhere near as seedy as he might think. He let out a long exhale through his nose and pulled at his tie, sliding it out from under his collar. He wrapped it around his knuckles absentmindedly a couple of times, the sudden thought of being restrained with it bursting forth.

 _Fuck it_ , Jon thought, pulling out his phone to type in Mistress Alayne's email address.

Not more than an hour later and Jon had booked a session, under a false name (it would not do muddy his father's name should it get out, and quite frankly, Jon was not keen on _anyone_ knowing about this).

* * *

 

The Highgarden Hotel was large and imposing, with a vast trellis of yellow roses climbing an arch around the entrance. Jon squinted up at the building and sucked in a breath.

 _Here goes nothing_ , he thought, slipping his sunglasses down his nose and entering the marble floored lobby. He gave his fake name to the concierge and peered over his glasses, taking in the well dressed guests and attentive staff milling about in the grand looking entrance.

"One moment please, Sir" the man behind the desk had said before picking up the phone and murmuring "you have a client" quietly into the receiver and tapping at the keys on his computer. "Here you are Sir" he chirped with a bright smile, placing a key card into Jon's hand. "Your appointment will be in the Winter Suite, top floor, farthest door to your left."

Jon nodded and thanked the man, all the while wondering what he thought of him. The guy obviously knew what would be going on in the Winter Suite, but he supposed he may be used to the idea after the comings and goings of clients at the hotel - he certainly didn't seem fazed and was very discreet about the whole thing.

Pressing the button to signal for the lift, he stood back and shoved his hands in his pockets, rocking nervously on his heels.

_What am I doing?_

The lift dinged and the doors opened. Jon glanced inside and then pondered the glass sliding doors of the lobby that exited the hotel.

_I could leave._

But he didn't. Stepping into the lift, Jon felt his blood thrumming through his body - Nerves? Excitement? Fear? Arousal? He wasn't sure which was the dominant cause.

_What if I don't like it?.....What if I like it too much?_

Jon watched the digital display of floor numbers above the doors as he ascended. Finally reaching the very top floor, the doors slid open with another _'ding'._ Glancing down the tastefully decorated and unassuming hallway, he saw the door at the very end with a plaque beside it saying 'The Winter Suite'. Taking a deep breath, Jon started to walk towards it as his blood beat hot at his pulse points.

Passing another door with a plaque that read _'The Rose Rooms'_  , Jon's eyes shifted all around, checking for any other guests or _clients_ on the floor. It was completely empty. The hall featured a plush carpet in muted tones of cream and gold and the air was filled with a cheery backgound music quietly seeping from discreet wall-mounted speakers. Images of leather, whips and cuffs flashed through Jon's mind - he found it disturbingly jarring with the tasteful decor before him. Somehow this made his cock stiffen a little.

The door to The Winter Suite was rather unassuming - lush dark wood and a polished golden handle. Jon cleared his throat, raised his fist to knock and lowered it just a quick with a stutter in his chest.

Grenn's words rang in his ears - _it's not as seedy as all that....she's very professional....and hot at fuck....she's pretty good at getting to know what you will and won't like...._

 _It's my last week in the South_ , Jon thought with a sudden inhale. He held his breath as he finally knocked on the door. _Why shouldn't I try something new?_

There was no answer. Jon almost found it to be a relief and slowly let out the air from his lungs. He knocked once more.

"Come in"

Fumbling in his pocket for the key card, Jon pushed it in and out of the slot and waited for the little light to turn green. It was red. He tried three more times before the damned thing worked. By the time the door yielded, Jon was so flustered he practically fell through it into the room beyond.

"Er Sorry!" he gasped...to the _empty_ room. The door clicked shut behind him.

He wasn't entirely sure what he had envisioned...

_That's not true - black leather, chains, wall mounted metal rings to anchor restraints, a cabinet filled with toys for punishment, some sort of torture rack?_

But what he was met with looked like any ordinary hotel suite. The walls and bedding were ivory, large mirrors were mounted in golden frames. The furniture was rich dark wood and on the polished mahogany coffee table stood a vase full to bursting with a bouquet of pale powder blue roses. But most importantly, he seemed to be alone.

"Hello?" he called uncertainly.

"I'll be with you in just one moment" came a sweet sounding voice from the en-suite, followed by the sound of running water. Jon suddenly felt like he only just then started breathing. He nervously wiped his clammy palms against his jeans and took off his sunglasses.  

_She sounds....normal._

But then, out of the bathroom came a woman, tall and elegant - and clad in leather. Jon's throat bobbed painfully as he took in the sweep of leg that ended in dangerously high stiletto heels. His eyes skimmed over her dark hair and then widened when he took in her face. Her lips - tantalisingly red as they were - could not have been enough to detract him from her winter blue eyes. Eyes that he knew, eyes that he remembered, eyes that he thought about all too often.

"Sorry to keep you waiting" she said breezily with a smile - before it faltered. A crease appeared in her brow as Jon's heart pounded in his chest and his blood roared in his ears. "Jon?...Jon Snow?"

"S-Sansa?"

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I'm SORRY for the lack of smut in this establishing chapter! If anyone is interested, this is the outfit that Sansa wore (complete with wig) - as soon as i saw it, I thought "DAMN you could conquer the world in an outfit like that!!" 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa talk out their predicament

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY!!! No smut in this chapter either!!! :-(

“S-Sansa?”

Jon’s heart stuttered as his pulse raced. His eyes were wide and his throat bobbed painfully.

_Fuck!_

“It _is_ you!” Sansa gaped back at him “I didn’t-...you used a fake name” she deduced out loud.

“Well...yeah...I-“ Jon choked out, feeling incredibly hot all of a sudden . “I didn’t want anyone....” his words trailed off into the awkwardness between them.

Sansa smirked and removed her wig, exposing her glorious copper locks pinned back to her head. Jon thought it was an instant improvement. “You didn’t want anyone to know you were seeing a Dom?” She offered, knowing full well that she’d hit the nail on the head. She began removing the pins from her hair and then shook out her red locks.

Jon rubbed at the back of his neck nervously, averting his eyes to study the carpet, the curtains - anything but _her_. “Sort of” he mumbled.

Walking forwards, Sansa ate up the small amount of distance between them in her dangerously high, patent leather heels. “It’s alright, Jon” she said in a voice as sweet and rich as caramel. She rested a hand on his arm, “I won’t tell.”

A part of Jon’s brain was trying to desperately figure out the fastest way to flee, whilst another was just consumed with the ringing of his name falling from her lips and her touch on his sleeve. The remainder of his mind was going haywire.

_Why is she doing this? Could I have prevented her from resorting to this line of work if I’d tried harder to get in touch? And FUCK! Now not only am I a shit friend, but a kinky pervert._

_And now she knows. She knows that I’m willing to pay for-...To pay for-...._

Jon choked on his thoughts as his eyes skimmed over her again - she was like a wet dream in leather making his brain short-circuit.

“Don’t tell Robb” Sansa said with a smirk, looking amused at the whole situation.

Jon shook his head. “I wouldn’t. I...We don’t really talk anymore.”

Sansa considered this before a glimmer passed over her sky blue eyes, “whilst that is a shame, Jon - it might be for the best. Easier for you not to let slip that his little sister gets paid to spank grown men’s arses and call them a dirty boy.”

“ _Sansa_ ,” Jon swallowed “why are you doing this? If you’re in financial trouble I can-“

“ _Oh no you don’t_ , Jon Snow” she tutted, cutting off his voice and sauntering away from him. She shrugged out of her tight leather jacket and hung it up in the large mahogany wardrobe. Sansa wore a crisp white blouse tucked into her high-waisted leather pencil skirt, making her look like a stern school mistress. There was no denying that she looked the part she was getting paid to play. Sansa turned back to face him, and Jon’s eyes were automatically drawn to the deep V created by the undone buttons of her shirt, the two sides of white fabric only meeting as they tucked into her skirt. Her bra was a vibrant red to match her lips and the underside of her heels. “I’m quite happy with this little gig I’ve got going, and I’m not about to accept any charity.”

Jon gulped. His hearing was muddied as his whole world centred on the curve of her breast and swell of her hips in that _fucking_ skirt. “Uh” he shook his head, realising she had been talking.

_You’re a fucking creep, Jon Snow._

Sansa’s lips twitched in knowing amusement. “Would you prefer for me to change out if this?” She asked, dragging her fingers lightly along the row of undone buttons on her blouse.

“ _What?!_...Err...no-no...I just-“ Jon stuttered before screwing his eyes shut and taking a deep breath. “I told Robb that I’d look out for you while you were in the city and I feel like _shit_ because I really haven’t lived up to that promise, and....and...Sansa, if you want to stop doing” he waves his hand awkwardly in front of him “-this, then I can help you _. You don’t have to do this.”_

Sansa rolled her eyes and walked back over to him. Playfully curling her fingers under both sides of Jon’s plaid shirt collar and giving a little tug. She made sure to look him square on. “Jon, I’m not being forced. I’m not doing anything that I’m uncomfortable with. This is not ‘Pretty Woman’, I am not Julia Roberts and you are not Richard Gere,” Sansa gave him a warm smile , “alright? It’s very sweet of you, but I don’t need saving, Jon.”

Jon wet his lips, his nerves alight with her proximity. He could smell her perfume, it was richer, _headier_ than the fresh citrusy fragrances she used to wear when she was younger. He was lost in her eyes for a glorious moment - a moment where the rest of the world stopped. With a shaky breath, everything came thundering back to his senses.

“ _Gods_ , Sansa, you must.....you must think I’m...”

_A pervert? A seedy creep? A kinky weirdo?_

“A client?” Sansa offered with a raised brow in question and a smirk upon her lips. She still had his shirt collar in her grasp as she looked at him hopefully.

“Wh- I can’t... _you can’t be serious, Sansa?”_

“Mistress Alayne” she corrected, smoothing her hands over his collarbones and shoulders like she was chasing away some creases.

“But...we know each other...wouldn’t that make things...”

_Complicated? Unbearably awkward? Insanely fucked up?_

“...unprofessional?” Jon finished.

Sansa mapped out his expression with her searching gaze. Jon wondered if she could hear his heart thundering under her scrutiny.

“You don’t know Mistress Alayne,” she shrugged, walking away from him taking her touch with her. Sansa sat on the padded stool in front of the vanity unit and began brushing her hair before fixing him with her eyes in the reflection of the mirror. “Besides, we haven’t seen each other in years. We are practically strangers.”

Jon’s stomach swooped and his heart felt suddenly heavy. _That’s my fault - my fault for being a fucking coward._

“I-I don’t know, I...”

Sansa swivelled on the stool to face him, crossing her long svelte legs before her. Jon swallowed whatever words that may have escaped him next.

 _She’s grown into herself_ , Jon realised suddenly. Not that she hadn’t been a woman grown when he’d last seen her years ago, but she was more sure of herself now. There was an air of confidence and determination and _God damn him_ if that didn’t make him want her more.

“Why did you make an appointment, Jon?” Sansa asked, leaning back on her elbows braced upon the vanity behind her. The pose made her look like a seductress and Jon was well aware that he was willing to be ensnared.

“Uh...” he shifted on his feet.

“Oh I know it’s sexy, and exciting, a bit taboo, and something a little bit kinky...but there’s normally another underlying reason behind men becoming my clients.” Sansa paused, her eyes raking down his body. Jon wondered if she enjoyed the obvious effect she was having on him. “Some of them-“ she rose from her seated position and began walking towards him again, her hips sashaying with her leisurely gait, “are in positions of power in their careers. Their work lives are hectic, they have so many responsibilities.” Sansa stood before him now. She reached for one of the buttons on his shirt and started fiddling with it. “They just like to....let go....While they’re with me, they don’t make any decisions. They don’t think - they just do.”

Jon nodded slowly and swallowed, keeping his eyes on her face whilst also being aware of how she was still toying with his shirt. The seemingly innocent action did weird things to his stomach.

“And then there’s my _very naughty boys_ ” she purred, her piercing blue eyes now boring into his own. “They come to me because they crave some punishment for something that they’re guilty of. Some of them like the discipline for little things - thinking dirty thoughts, looking at porn, things of that nature....Some of them are well aware that they’re not nice to their poor employees-“ Sansa pouted adorably and started swinging her hips, “Some of them lust over someone they shouldn’t and feel dreadful about it.”

Jon’s eyes widened a fraction at her last explanation, making Sansa’s lips twitch in recognition. He could practically hear her mentally exclaim _‘bingo! Got him!’_

“Who is it?” Sansa asked in a soft voice, her eyes lowering to where her fingers still played with his button.

_You. It’s always been you._

Jon felt his body start to lean into her as everything around them melted away. It was just him and Sansa and that _damned_ question hanging in the air between them

 _You_ , every fibre in his being declared. _I’ve always wanted you, and I’m ashamed of it....Say it!....Tell her!...Finally tell her!_

Suddenly the world came hurtling back into focus and Jon felt like he had just surfaced from drowning. “She’s with someone else isn’t she?” Sansa guessed. Jon screwed his eyes shut momentarily as his soul gasped for air. He nodded. He hated himself for the lie, but he nodded all the same - clinging onto the lifeline Sansa had thrown him.

 _Coward_ , he told himself. _Fucking coward, yet again._

“Is she married?” Sansa asked, pinning him to the spot with her sky blue eyes. Jon’s throat bobbed before he nodded again.

Sansa’s lips pulled up into a smirk as her hands smoothed over his shoulders again. “Well, that is naughty if you, Jon” she said, walking away from him and over to a large chest of drawers. She paused before looking over her shoulder at him. “And do you think if doing filthy things to this woman you can’t have?”  
  
_Gods_ , he mentally panted. _If only you knew all the dirty, depraved acts I’ve envisioned doing to you over the years._

Sansa was still awaiting his answer as he wet his lips and nodded once more, feeling incredibly hot all of a sudden.

Her lips twitched again before she turned towards the set of drawers. Pulling one open, she let out a satisfied sounding sigh at the smooth glide and gentle click sound of the shallow drawer. “In here,” her hands ran along the edge of the open drawer, like she was stroking it “are some things we could use for your punishment-“ Jon made an incoherent noise of protest before Sansa raised a hand, indicating that she was not finished. “In here, are some things that we could use for your punishment,” she repeated, “now, I’m going to go freshen up in the en-suite, the person who come out of that room will be Mistress Alayne.” Sansa looked over her shoulder at Jon once more to make sure he understood. “If you decide to stay and take your punishment, then I invite you to pick something from the drawer and lay it on the bed.”

Jon’s breathing became laboured at the wicked little smile she granted him. He could feel himself begin to grow hard at the thought of staying and being at the mercy of Mistress Alayne.

“Of course,” she paused halfway on her walk to the en-suite, “you are free to leave too, Jon.” Sansa passed a small table and picked up her wig on her way.”

“Don’t-“ Jon blurted, suddenly feeling his cheeks aflame, “uhh...can you...umm...you don’t have to wear the wig.”

Sansa smiled back at him. “As you wish,” she purred, leaving the wig on the table and disappearing into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably full of typos...will tidy up later...

 

The day that Jon had unsuspectingly booked an appointment with her was like all Sansa’s Christmases had come at once in a neatly packaged curly haired bundle. The last time Sansa had clasped eyes on Jon Snow had been in her very early twenties, when her parents had thrown a party in his honour to celebrate the big new change in his life – moving to King’s Landing and starting his career. Looking back now, Sansa could admit that she was still just a girl. Sure, her body had matured, her curves were that of a woman, but her heart had remained juvenile and hopeful.

There had been a part of her – _a rather big part_ \- that had daydreamed and hoped that Jon wouldn’t leave. That he’d see the error of his ways, declare that the feelings she dreamt he harboured for her meant more to him than any high-flying job down in the capitol. But alas, any sentiments of a romantic notion that Jon might’ve held for Sansa had all apparently originated from her imagination, and that’s where they had stayed. Jon didn’t change his mind about moving miles and miles away from her, he didn’t declare his love…he didn’t even properly say goodbye. And like the first candle to be snuffed out before the rest, Jon had shown Sansa that she mustn’t hang her dreams and silly ideas of love aloft for a swift breeze to extinguish her flame.

It wasn’t really Jon’s fault of course. He obviously had no inkling that Robb’s annoying little sister -the one he didn’t hang out with all the time- was into him. (‘Into him’ was most likely an understatement, her girlish sensibilities had thought her in _love_.) But Sansa Stark knows better now. She’s finally a woman grown and no longer a slave to her emotions. Jon may have unknowingly held a nail to that coffin, but it was Joffrey who truly brought down the hammer with a devastating crash. And Sansa no longer tries to prize open the resting place of that naïve little girl – and she’s better off for it.

It has been a month since she had walked out of the bathroom of The Winter Suite and was met with the wide eyes and gaping mouth of one Mr Jon Snow. Her heart had stuttered a boom-badda-boom rhythm in her chest once she had realised who she was facing, it galloped even faster once she saw the realisation in his eyes at who it was _he_ was facing.

She’d made a good job of keeping her side-line business under the radar as far as her friends and family are concerned and she had, for all intents and purposes, wanted to keep it that way. But then in strolled Jon, looking as handsome as ever, making her heart lurch against the iron bars of the cage she’d constructed around it.

Mistress Alayne had kicked in then. She was no longer a girl, no longer that person who daydreamed about her brother’s best friend. She was over that. Completely, totally over it. And there was a part of her that delighted in the thought of Jon becoming her client. For as much as Sansa will argue that she does not provide a sexual experience for her customers, there’s no denying that each and every one of them get a rush of arousal from her cuffs, her spanking paddle, her corsets and spiked high heels.

If she’s as good at her job as she thinks she is, then there’s no way that Jon Snow won’t be thinking about her between their sessions. And _that_ gives her a little thrill. If only it weren’t tainted by this woman that Jon was lusting after but can’t have – his guilty little secret which requires his punishment. She could, if she allowed herself to, wallow down that dark and dank path of jealousy, but she won’t. Mistress Alayne is no victim to that kind of pain…but she’ll readily dish out a different sort.

He’d been hesitant during their first session, like a skittish little lamb. She still remembers the current of satisfaction and excitement running through her veins when she’d stepped out from the bathroom to see that Jon had stayed. He had been sat on the bed with wide doe eyes, fingers biting and releasing into the feather duvet at the very edge of the bed, his tongue darting out to swipe across his lip. _Oh, she was going to enjoy this._

_“A good choice” Mistress Alayne purred as she appraised the soft silk restraints that lay beside him on the bed, “to begin with.” Sansa stalked forward, careful to place one heeled foot directly in front of the other in a way that made her hips sashay hypnotically. She watched Jon swallow the lump in his throat, excited from knowing she was the one to put that lump there in the first place. “I have rules,” she declared now that she was stood directly before him, reaching forward to hook a finger under his chin and tilting his face up towards her, “all my naughty boys have to conform to my rules, Jon. Do you understand?”_

_“Yes,” he whispered hoarsely._

_“Yes, what?”_

_“Uh…yes…Mistress Alayne.”_

_“That’s better,” Sansa cooed, stoking a single finger down the side of Jon’s face, the blood in her veins singing at the hitch in his breath. “Now, naughtiness must be punished,” she stated, beginning to card her fingers through his curls over and over like she’d wanted to do for so, so long. Jon groaned, his eyes fluttering closed as Sansa grinned down at him, excited by just how receptive he was being to her already and they hadn’t even started. “Listen to me, Jon!” she tugged sharply on his hair, gripping it with a fist. Jon’s eyes flew open, his pupils blown wide._

_“Mistress knows best,” she declared, keeping a firm hold on his inky locks, “but if it gets too much, you say ‘snowfall’ and I’ll stop and soothe your hurts away,” she paused to pout down at him, her fingers now spearing through his hair again, gently stroking his scalp like he were her eager pet. Sansa swears she hears him whimper into her attentions and decides that she likes this altogether far too much. “If you don’t want me to stop what I’m doing, but the sting to too biting for you to bear, you say ‘weirwood’ and I’ll be softer so you can be good and take your punishment.”_

_Jon looked to be almost in a trance, soft and pliant with heavy lidded eyes. He reminded her of a cat enjoying his owner’s attention. As if under an enchantment, he lifted his hands and curled them around her waist, “Sansa,” he implored in a voice both gravelly and molten. Sansa swiftly struck him across the face with an open palm, only enough for a slight tingle in her fingers, the slap stunning him none-the-less. Jon gasped and blinked up at her in shock, his hands leaving her instantly._

_“I did not give you permission to touch me Jon.”_

_“I’m…I’m sorry, I just-“ Jon stammered, leaning forwards earnestly as if he were about to drop to his knees and grovel. Perhaps she’ll have him do that, she thinks, but not just yet._

_“Take off your clothes, you wicked man,” Sansa chastised before walking away as if in disgust. There was a definite pause behind her. “Are you going to be disobedient today, Jon?” she baited, waiting to see if he’d use one of the safe words or comply. Sansa grinned to herself and tapped her fingers lightly over the surface of her vanity table as she heard the rustle of clothes being removed behind her._

_She turned, letting her eyes drink in the hard planes and defined muscle of his broad chest. Jon Snow had definitely been working on his physique since he’d left Winterfell. He shifted under her scrutiny as she allowed herself the unabashed appraisal of his form. Sansa Stark would never do this, Sansa Stark was the one who had averted her gaze and blushed furiously that year that Jon Snow had risen dripping wet from the Stark’s summer house pool – Mistress Alayne however, well, a Mistress can look her fill of her client as they squirm on the spot (which Jon was most certainly doing right now.) She frowned at his low-slung jeans still clinging to his hips, his hands hanging at his sides with seemingly no intention of taking them off. Raising a brow, Sansa looked him in the eye._

_Jon licked his lips and shook his head. “I’d rather not…um…maybe not this time?...if-if that’s ok?...Mistress.”_

_She twitched her lips and gave a small, single nod of her head. She’ll allow him this today, even if she’s denied the gratification that comes with the sound of her paddle kissing his bare ass. Sansa pulled her spine taut and took a sharp draw of air through her nose before she stalked forwards, making a show of mapping out every pore of his visible skin, looking him up and down as she circled Jon slowly. Strutting around him like she were nothing more than prey and she his preditor. Jon watched her both warily and and hungrily, puffing out his chest as she drank him in._

_Reaching out to graze her nails across his shoulder, Sansa kept the contact as she continued to track around him, dragging her fingertips along his shoulder blades and then around to his front. Jon was holding his breath, she could tell. His heart thrummed excitedly in his chest as she raked her nails lightly down, down, down, her eyes following the movement. “This woman you cannot have,” she said suddenly, “tell me what you would do to her if you were given the chance. If you were allowed to.”_

_“Sansa, I-“_

_“Don’t make me strike that handsome face of yours again, Jon,” Sansa tutted, her eyes still cast downward, watching as Jon’s stomach muscles jumped and twitched when she gently scratched along the skin just above his belt. “There is no Sansa here,” she locked eyes with him, sending him a warning not to overstep again, “only Mistress.”_

_“Yes…Mistress,” Jon gulped._

_Sansa dipped her forefinger and middle down into the front of Jon’s jeans and boxer shorts, getting a firm hook on the waistband before giving a sudden short tug forward. “Better,” she commented, her pulse racing and at complete odds with her cool exterior. Sansa masked her excitement well, but Jon apparently did not. The look in his eyes telling her that he would like nothing more at this moment than to devour her. She’ll take it – this thrill he’s giving her right here, right now, even if it’s really meant for another, this married woman of Jon’s. She wonders if they look alike; her and his guilty secret. Maybe Jon would prefer for Mrs Off-Limits to be the one admonishing him right now for all the filthy thoughts that have run ragged through that pretty head of his._

_“Tell me Jon,” she said, releasing her grip on his clothing and reaching up to stroke a finger down the side of his neck, past the bob of his throat and down the hard muscle of his chest, “do you touch yourself when you think of her?”_

_“Uh-“_

_“Tell Mistress the truth, Jon” Sansa warned as she stalked around to his back again, thinking that perhaps if she weren’t directly in front of him Jon would find this first admission to be a slight bit easier. Her Mistress persona grinned as she was proven to be correct with Jon nodding his head. “Mmmm,” she purred, raking her nails down his spine harder than she had before, revelling in the way he shudders under her fingertips. “What would her husband think of you?” Sansa tutted, “desiring his wife, imagining touching, kissing, fucking his woman…is that why you want Mistress to punish you?” Sansa whispered her final words behind his ear, careful to make sure her lips would gently brush against him. Jon nodded and let out an uneven breath, only to sharply suck it back in again when Sansa nipped at the shell of his ear. She hadn’t meant to do that – to take his skin between her teeth or quickly swipe her warm wet tongue over it. She would never normally be that ‘intimate’ or ‘hands on’ with her other clients but she found the draw to do so was too great to ignore here with Jon._

_“Go sit on the chair,” Sansa demanded, indicating to the seat by the writing desk. Jon hurried to do as she bid, making Sansa smile as she went to pick up the silk bindings that Jon had picked out for his first session. She sauntered forward slowly, passing the soft fabric through her fingers over and over again as Jon watched her approach, licking his lips in anticipation. “Wrists together, behind your back,” she barked. Jon complied immediately. “Good,” she praised as he allowed Sansa to bind his wrists together around the chairback. “You’re doing so well, Jon,” she cooed, stroking her fingers through his hair again, making Jon stifle a little groan of pleasure. With the remaining tie she had in her grasp, Sansa relieved him of his sight, wrapping the black silk over his eyes as a rather effective blindfold. Jon took a sharp, deep drag of hair through his nose in anticipation of what was to come._

_Wickedly, Sansa just stood there, a silent smirk on her devil red lips. She didn’t touch him. She didn’t move. She hardly breathed. Jon’s nerves where alight and alert, she could practically see the energy crackling off him as he began breathing heavily, his chest and stomach rising and falling. He kept licking at those full lips of his, lips that she had oft fantasised about when she were the younger version of herself, naïve and foolish. She wonders if Jon has kissed this taken woman of his? Perhaps before she married…perhaps after? Sansa is unsuccessful at concealing the curl of her lip when she thinks of it, only just managing to hold back the snarl that would accompany the gesture. Having been on the sharp end of an adulterous relationship with Joffrey’s dalliances, she detests the notion wholeheartedly, and the very thought that kind, sweet, adorable Jon would entertain engaging in such a thing leaves her no room but to believe that inherently, all men are the same._

_Or perhaps it’s more than lust. Perhaps he loves her?_

_A curious sharpness in her chest, an echo of her former self protests so forcefully at the notion before she silences it’s plea. Jon Snow’s love interests are of no consequence to me, she reaffirms, this is business, he’s a client. Nothing more._

_“San-…Mistress?” Jon calls out into the silence, tentatively, alert, blood thrumming in his veins she can practically count the pulsating beats under the skin of his neck._

_He gasps when Sansa finally relents seating herself across his lap. She can feel him hard against the underside of her thigh and grins as his breath stutters unevenly. “Tell me,” she hums, stroking slowly up and down his chest, “tell me what you think about doing to this woman when you take that hard cock of yours in your hand? Hm?”_

_Jon whimpers making Sansa take note that he is very much affected by her use of filthy words. “I…I think of kissing her,” he admits, causing Sansa to chuckle and shake her head._

_Grabbing under Jon’s jaw with one hand, his neatly trimmed scruff tickling her palm, Sansa turns his face to the side. She’s not sure what poses her, but before she can stop herself she licks up his cheek with the flat of her tongue before pressing her face to the side of his. “Oh I think you can do better than that, Jon,” she rasps in what she hopes is a thick sultry voice. By the tension crackling in the tiny space between them, Sansa deduces that it’s working._

_She’s not sure who’s she’s torturing more with her next move when she hikes up her skirt to change position, now straddling him. Her hips start shifting of their own accord, rocking and rubbing herself against the strain in his jean._

_“Fuck!”Jon groans and Sansa has to remind herself to temper her excitement._

_He’s a client, he’s a client, he’s a client….but I’ve never done this with a client before._

_“Fuck?” she repeats his sentiment, continuing her tortuous movement against him, “is that what you think about doing to this woman, Jon? You want to fuck her?”_

_“Yes,” he whimpers, his head lolling back against the chair, stretching his throat._

_“How?” Sansa leans forward to whisper at his jaw, “how would you like to fuck her? Tell me Jon.”_

_“I…” he licked his lips, seemingly gathering his courage and scattered thoughts. Sansa delighted in being able to affect him so. “I want her to ride me. Ride my cock.”_

_Sansa smirked to herself. He’s still holding back, she can tell. “Like this?” she bucks harder, faster against him, pulling another agonised lustful groan from him._

_“Yes, yes, like that,” he nods furiously, his own hips now raising in time with hers. “Gods Sansa, I-“_

_He gasps again as she’s suddenly gone, leaving him empty lapped and hard, his hips stuttering to a holt. She’s silent again for a torturous beat or two before stalking around him in a delicious game of cat and mouse. “Ah-ah-ah,” she tuts, dragging the faintest amount of pressure from her nails across the length of his broad shoulders, “that was very naughty of you Jon,” she informs, him even when she’d like nothing more than to be rocking against him in his lap right now. That’s not what he’s here for. He’s here to be punished and Sansa has decided that teasing Jon Snow into a frenzy is a rather suitable penance. “First of all,” she grabs a fist if his soft curly hair and yanks on it hard, his head snapping back so she can lean over his blindfolded face, “it’s Mistress,” she reminds him._

_“Sorry, Mistress,” he gulps, the bob of his exposed throat a mesmerising sight._

_“Secondly,” Sansa pauses, smoothing her free hand down the side of his face, past his stretched out neck and down the front of his chest, the tips of her breasts gently touching his bent back forehead as she does, “you can’t have this woman. She is forbidden. You are incredibly wicked for thinking such depraved, naughty things of her. She’s not yours.”_

_The little puff of hot exhaled air that rushes from his mouth and fans over her chest as it hovers over him is all for too delicious for Sansa to bear. She snaps her body up straight, shoving Jon’s head up to it’s rightful position and strides away to her drawer of goodies, lest she do something completely mad like kiss a man who’s lusting after someone else._

_“Stand up,” she commands, selecting a paddle from her collection, “it’s time for your punishment Jon Snow.”_

* * *

 

Sansa smiles at the memory of the dull thwack Jon’s jeans-clad ass had received that first time. It wasn’t like that at all now, a whole month on. Jon has fast become one of her favourite regulars, especially now she’s managed to get him completely nude for their sessions.

Sansa hums to herself as her hands glide over the edge of the open drawer of goodies, wondering what he’ll pick for her to use on him today.

A knock at the door has her heart beating like a hummingbird’s wings and she has to take a breath before she can answer.

“Come in,” she calls, turning and plastering on a stern face as the door clicks open.

“Sansa,” Jon acknowledges warmly as he steps over the threshold. She raises a perfect brow expectantly making Jon lick excitedly at those sinfully full lips, “Mistress,” he corrects.


End file.
